Tattoo You, as I recall, was an album by the Stones. Now it is my younger son's new mantra.
A few months ago, he casually asked how I would feel if he were to get a tattoo.
"What can I do about it?" I said. "It's your body."
Yesterday, my husband and I were watching a movie on a Saturday afternoon, while it snowed another 12" outside. The phone rang and it was the eldest.
"Hey, Mom." his usual greeting.
"Hi honey. What's new?"
"You're going to get a surprise today or tomorrow."
"Will I like it?" I asked him.
Pause. "I think so," he answered. I didn't press. I'd forgotten about the tattoo.
A couple hours later, I received a pic message from the younger one. It was a photo of his tattoo, freshly cut and still bleeding, wrapped in Saran Wrap around his upper thigh.
"BTB" it read. It stands for B-Town Boys...B-Town an abbreviation of the New Hampshire town we live in.
"Hi, Mom" came the cheerful phone call a moment later. "Did you see my tattoo?"
"Yes, honey. It looks sore. Is it bleeding?"
"Yes. We're all getting one. "
"Does it hurt?"
"Ha!" my husband said when I related the conversation. "I bet he's the only one who gets one."